


приятных снов

by circuit_breaker



Category: Shadowrun
Genre: + some other characters, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-18
Updated: 2020-01-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:48:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22304425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/circuit_breaker/pseuds/circuit_breaker
Summary: A continuation to спокойной ночи.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13





	приятных снов

**Author's Note:**

> This story is posted as a separate piece due to its violent / potentially upsetting elements.
> 
> **It's recommended to read[спокойной ночи](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10952202) before this fic.**

I wake up, sweaty and startled because of a dream—one of those dreams which have been haunting everyone in the vicinity. What a strangely miserable area this is: one can’t even find peace while sleeping.

After my head clears up, I realize that there’s a low and steady noise coming from somewhere nearby. Machinery combined with— _what_? I lie still, not wanting to trust in my ears. Is someone... _screaming_ below me? No. It can’t be. It can’t be true.

The room is dark. When I get up, I put on what little armor I can in a short period of time. I take a machete with me, and reach the narrow hallway.

I note that there’s no sign of light anywhere in sight. Part of me wants to switch on the lights, but then I’d reveal my presence to a potential attacker. I listen more closely and become certain that the sounds really do come from downstairs. It pains me to think of Racter and Gaichu, but I can’t barge in there without any support nor plan.

I sneak silently into Duncan’s room to see whether he is there.

Turns out that he isn’t.

His empty bed squeezes my heart. I fear that he is the one screaming. When someone screams so much that their voice is so harsh and broken, it’s hard to recognize even a familiar voice anymore.

I climb upstairs to seek help. Is0bel’s computer is dead. No lights anywhere, no peaceful humming. And, what matters most—no Is0bel either. I almost stumble because of a wire crossing the floor like a corpse of a snake. I still fear that the attacker heard my misstep, and I stand still, listening. The screeches continue; the screams, in turn, have turned dreadfully silent. But no-one comes in the end. No-one heard anything. I slip into Gobbet’s corner, only to see that she is away, too, just like the others, meaning...

That there’s only me and unknown intruders in the basement of the ship.

I look out of a window to see whether there’s anyone out there who could come for aid. That’s when I notice that the ship isn’t next to Heoi. Only restless dark waters churn on the other side of the glass.

In the end, my only hope is to go there myself. Since the stranger hasn’t figured my presence yet, I use the little time to put on some more armor and weaponry.

Then, I open up the lid.

The sounds crash against me like a huge wave; the accompanying smell of butchered meat rises, threatening to turn my stomach upside-down. Yet, I go down. I do not have any other option. I have to go. I have to.

Gradually, I see what’s down there. There’s a dim reddish light illuminating the whole place, and an operating table. An unfamiliar male elf is lying on the table, naked—tied to the surface.

His legs are gone. There’s blood splattered on the table and the metallic floor, dripping down through the gaps. The man’s wrists are connected to several bags of blood, keeping him barely alive.

Koschei rises his central body to look at me, away from the disconnected mutilated legs in front of him. His limbs bathe in deep crimson red; sharing the same shade as his several sensors which glow like the eyes of a monstrous, living beast. The rigger himself is sitting next to a display.

“Ah, this research of mine didn’t wake you up, did it?” Racter speaks in his usual, pleasantly soft tone without looking at me. It makes me feel like my skin and bones have frozen to the core. “I told him to keep quiet, but I’m afraid that his manners could be polished.”

The mechanic arms on Racter’s wall become animated. They begin to gather cybernetic pieces which are lying on the floor next to them.

“What are you doing?” I ask. The voice doesn’t sound like my own. It's too monotonous, too remote. I step closer to him.

“The research you suggested, my friend. You told me that my own personal perspective doesn’t count as enough evidence to prove me right. I admit, you made a fair point: a sample of one person is indeed very small. Therefore I decided to perform a proper testing of my theory, and this man here is honored to be the first test subject. He is a psychopath like I am, you see”, he explains while controlling the arms. They move smoothly, bringing all necessary tools closer to the operating table.

“You didn’t need to do this.”

There’s a lump in my throat. Racter gives me a quizzical look; then he turns his attention back to the screen.

“Why, of course I had to do this. Although simulations have progressed quite a bit, they still cannot replace real experiments. Our reality has too many different variables to consider for our current computing technologies”, he says. “Besides, how else could I convince you? I’m sure that you would take my offer more seriously if I could show you that my theory is correct. And I’m sure that it is correct. You may perhaps feel sorry for this man, but he will thank me for this procedure... There’s no greater honor—no greater opportunity—than to be one of the first to approach the post-humanistic reality.”

I observe him as he talks: the strange yet alluring passion; the shoulders rising and falling in a slight movement. When he turns to look at me, his face has a satisfied smile, lips pressed against each other softly.

"... Where are the others?" I ask slowly. Racter turns back to the display and types a couple of commands.

"Ah, you are having memory issues again, I see", he says. "You have had them ever since they died. I'll probably need to repeat this to you many times in the future, too, but... your brother, Is0bel and Gobbet died years ago because of our dispute. Surely you remember what dispute I'm speaking of, yes? Gaichu, in turn, just disappeared one night. It has been just you and me for several years now."

Racter finishes typing and looks at me again.

I strike the machete through him that instant.

“Leave me be, you demon”, I roar.

Racter’s startled expression turns into an amused grin. Blood pours from his mouth, and when he parts the lips—the teeth are thin and sharp like endless needles.

“What gave us away, meat?” Qian Ya asks. Racter’s voice turns into a deceptively harmonious singing.

“Your smile. You clearly avoided showing me your teeth the whole time... Racter doesn’t smile like a fragging Mona Lisa”, I state, drawing the blade back from Qian Ya’s manifestation. Blood splashes from the wound. She laughs, mockingly, brutally. Her laughter is even more piercing than the noise from before. More piercing than anything else I’ve ever heard or imagined. My ears ring when she stops, but I can still hear her when she speaks again, now producing grotesque sounds.

“How clever of you, you pathetic little slave-thing”, she says, leaning against the desk behind her. I ready the machete to finish her off, but she continues, spreading her smile wider, “How very, _very_ clever. We would be impressed if only you hadn’t forgotten the obvious fact that we aren’t alone...”

The realization hits me too late. When I turn around, fake Koschei’s jaws are already wrapping around my head—

* * *

—the rest I can’t remember. However, when I open my eyes, I’m in Racter’s workshop, on a mattress on the floor. Koschei’s eyes glow in the dark workshop. I remember then that I have been sleeping over Racter’s place for some time now.

It all started when the rigger lied to me that his workshop could help with the nightmares; in the end, I learned that he had just been drugging me each time I went to sleep there. Unfortunately, Duncan got the wrong impression. He demanded Racter to explain—and the rigger came up with the excuse that I’m sleeping in his workshop because of seasickness. While his explanation was better than the preposterous idea that I come here for, _well_ , sex—that also meant that I couldn’t simply move back into my room, not right after that happening at least. That would’ve been too suspicious.

I relax back against the mattress. Then, I glance at Racter’s bed, expecting that he is sleeping there—but he is not sleeping. He is lying there, sure, but his strikingly pale eyes are open and directed at me.

“Do you still see those dreams?” he asks.

“No”, I say at first. Then, I add, “Yes.”

Racter chuckles.

“Still ashamed of having them?” he asks—a rhetorical question, I’m sure, as he continues without waiting for an answer, “How peculiar. One would imagine that the dreams wouldn’t be bothering you any longer. The demon queen is gone from this reality. Others haven’t reported having those dreams anymore, too.”

To be honest, I’m not sure whether it truly is Qian Ya who haunts my dreams. It’s possible that she is nothing but a recurring illusion, created by my subconscious. I do not mention my wondering to Racter, though. Instead of that, I turn the conversation elsewhere:

“Racter... How did it feel when you went through the shop accident?”

The rigger tilts his head. I notice that Koschei does the same, mirroring the gesture.

“It felt like nothing”, he says.

“Nothing?”

“Yes.”

“That can’t be the truth. Half of your body was torn apart, and you say that it felt like nothing?” I question. He turns so that his back faces his mattress, head resting against a pillow.

“It might sound like a baffling claim, but I’m not lying to you. The pain was so sudden and strong that my system shut itself off. In other words, I fell unconscious; and if I had been self-aware of it all back then, the shock was great enough to erase my memories of it. I can only recall waking up in a hospital and how my mother was sitting next to the bed, howling against the back of my hand.”

What a mind image. After considering his words for a moment, I think that I can understand it, somehow, despite the fact that I have never gone through such a drastic event.

“I see...” I say.

“In any case, we should get some more sleep, no? Although it may be atmospheric to discuss in the middle of the night, we can continue at a better timing”, he states.

“Yes, we could... But, oh, just one more thing before you drift asleep?” I ask.

“What do you have in mind?”

“Just wanted to tell you that I’ve changed my mind. About the sample size being too small and all that. Your observations are convincing enough as they are”, I say.

Racter glances at me with raised eyebrows. Then, his lips spread into a wide and delighted smile—revealing the perfectly white rows of his teeth.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos to Ghostfriendly for giving constructive feedback (in the comments section)!


End file.
